"voluminous" poems - Hello Poetry

Seven Empressive Holy Scarce (Connection) Voluminous Exceedingly Hopeful Serpents (One) Very Immense Daffodils Lie (Together) Superb Whole Emanating Velociraptors (Packed) Solo Divided Encounters (Meaning behind meeting) |||VVhat?

0

Aug 26, 2018

Aug 26, 2018 at 10:43 PM UTC

stesekes

You do the math

Seven Empressive Holy Scarce (Connection) Voluminous Exceedingly Hopeful Serpents (One) Very Immense Daffodils Lie (Together) Superb Whole Emanating Velociraptors (Packed) Solo Divided Encounters (Meaning behind meeting) |||VVhat?

25

Le ***** Quest Glasses up, Hair down *** up, Face down Ignore the sisters, I’m after the cousins The catholic approved crevasse to bust in I wouldn’t say im obsessed But the ***** demon has me possessed I’d call you blessed, its what you guessed I’m hard pressed to bend you east and get at the west I’m on a ***** quest with a lascivious request to admire the caboose cleft I can’t repent the intent of this unspent cement But I’ll give up hemp for lent Embark on a posterior pilgrimage of preposterous proportions, Devoted to the search for thy voluminous bloons for which I swoon

0

Sep 9, 2015

Sep 9, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC

hotsaucemcpoetry

Le ***** Quest

Le ***** Quest Glasses up, Hair down *** up, Face down Ignore the sisters, I’m after the cousins The catholic approved crevasse to bust in I wouldn’t say im obsessed But the ***** demon has me possessed I’d call you blessed, its what you guessed I’m hard pressed to bend you east and get at the west I’m on a ***** quest with a lascivious request to admire the caboose cleft I can’t repent the intent of this unspent cement But I’ll give up hemp for lent Embark on a posterior pilgrimage of preposterous proportions, Devoted to the search for thy voluminous bloons for which I swoon

15

when a bunch of old Senate men and some intimidated women voted to heave an accused ****** and proven liar with an alcohol problem given to irascible outbursts, fits of self-pity and insulting comments on women into a lifelong seat on the highest court in the nation against voluminous evidence of his lacking qualifications the statue of the Goddess of Justice whom a former attorney general had all covered up in blue cloth dropped her sword and scales tore off her blindfold and covered her naked ******* in shame

0

Oct 5, 2018

Oct 5, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC

wwhoelbling

the day U. S. justice died

when a bunch of old Senate men and some intimidated women voted to heave an accused ****** and proven liar with an alcohol problem given to irascible outbursts, fits of self-pity and insulting comments on women into a lifelong seat on the highest court in the nation against voluminous evidence of his lacking qualifications the statue of the Goddess of Justice whom a former attorney general had all covered up in blue cloth dropped her sword and scales tore off her blindfold and covered her naked ******* in shame

15

With a body wrapped in a crimson dress, she bears a violent temper. Shining daylight, raging bewitching, captivating cunning. You arrive with starry eyes and cheeks flushed like a ****** In her curly hair, autumn curtains hang—roaming rays hot. She glows in the night like a pictorial wall with hieroglyphics concealing madness. You step elegantly, but you're a dangerously stealthy predator. Grassy hills in floating flames burn beneath a voluminous haze. Her look describes fabulous waterfalls, endlessly flowing and shining in the coming dawn. You associate with robbers and kings, but they do not understand, and no one will save you. Lovely eyes sprinkle enchanting rays, her lips intertwined like a rose petal. Her heart enticingly calls with her fruit to be drunk. You hide in the nightlife, dress up, and do your love magic. Neck fashioned in autumnal garments, wearing scarlet ruby earrings. Her pink skin smells of perfume, inviting like a grape on a vine. You invite visitors with your charm to carelessness, forever forced. Her lips are flowing bewitching rivers—intersecting strokes of crimson. They bring a dream to taste her deep soils and her artfully carved forms. You are determined to captivate without marrying— you stay lost in rebellion.

0

Sep 25, 2023

Sep 25, 2023 at 6:19 AM UTC

Svetli

Scarlet

With a body wrapped in a crimson dress, she bears a violent temper. Shining daylight, raging bewitching, captivating cunning. You arrive with starry eyes and cheeks flushed like a ****** In her curly hair, autumn curtains hang—roaming rays hot. She glows in the night like a pictorial wall with hieroglyphics concealing madness. You step elegantly, but you're a dangerously stealthy predator. Grassy hills in floating flames burn beneath a voluminous haze. Her look describes fabulous waterfalls, endlessly flowing and shining in the coming dawn. You associate with robbers and kings, but they do not understand, and no one will save you. Lovely eyes sprinkle enchanting rays, her lips intertwined like a rose petal. Her heart enticingly calls with her fruit to be drunk. You hide in the nightlife, dress up, and do your love magic. Neck fashioned in autumnal garments, wearing scarlet ruby earrings. Her pink skin smells of perfume, inviting like a grape on a vine. You invite visitors with your charm to carelessness, forever forced. Her lips are flowing bewitching rivers—intersecting strokes of crimson. They bring a dream to taste her deep soils and her artfully carved forms. You are determined to captivate without marrying— you stay lost in rebellion.

16

What is beauty? Growing up I was told lighter skin, bigger eyes, smaller nose thinner lips, straight black hair thin body, smaller frame smaller shoe size There was no embracing of my brown skin, almond-shaped eyes longer nose, fuller lips, wavy voluminous hair thick thighs, larger frame not size 6 shoes No celebration of my own beauty what forms and defines me until now. I choose to not be the subject of another’s judgement of what is considered beautiful or not to be molded into what is acceptable and approved by my culture, my society, people around me I choose myself my uniqueness and my acceptance of myself just as I am is true beauty.

0

Jul 14, 2020

Jul 14, 2020 at 12:04 AM UTC

iamrashma

What is beauty?

What is beauty? Growing up I was told lighter skin, bigger eyes, smaller nose thinner lips, straight black hair thin body, smaller frame smaller shoe size There was no embracing of my brown skin, almond-shaped eyes longer nose, fuller lips, wavy voluminous hair thick thighs, larger frame not size 6 shoes No celebration of my own beauty what forms and defines me until now. I choose to not be the subject of another’s judgement of what is considered beautiful or not to be molded into what is acceptable and approved by my culture, my society, people around me I choose myself my uniqueness and my acceptance of myself just as I am is true beauty.

16

Love should not be possessive. Love like you would a flower, growing in a field. If you were to pluck that flower, take it inside, to place in a vase or between the pages of a book, it will wither and it will die. Suffocated, cut off from that place which it is meant to be. Instead, lay next to your love. Let your breath be the wind that brushes against its petals. In a storm, build a fortress to protect it, to shade it from the sun. Sing songs to it until you fall asleep, where you dream beside it. If you part, have no fear. Relish the moments in which that Love is beside you. Do not entertain thoughts of another coming and plucking that flower, you have no control over such things. Live beside that which you Love, possession will only bring death. No one can take your love. If in the morning that flower is no longer there, fear nothing, as you too will one day be gone. The more we love, the more we want to hold on. Let go of the idea of permanence. Everything is ever changing. The seasons, the tides, they come and they go. Move within them. Hold that Love deep inside, like a heartbeat. Fear of loss is ever gnawing. Let go of fear by letting go of the idea of possession. All that you own is that which beats within you, silent and voluminous. All else is an illusion. When you look across the room at her, do so as you would a flower. Appreciate and enjoy, do not let the tendrils of fear wrap themselves around you. Do not reach out and take what is not yours, do not ask for anything in return. Open up your heart, let the sunshine pour from your eyes. Before you know it, these moments will be memories. This life will be another grain of sand on an endless beach. your story will be lost on the winds of spring.

0

Aug 26, 2015

Aug 26, 2015 at 6:09 AM UTC

sean-devlin

love like a flower

Love should not be possessive. Love like you would a flower, growing in a field. If you were to pluck that flower, take it inside, to place in a vase or between the pages of a book, it will wither and it will die. Suffocated, cut off from that place which it is meant to be. Instead, lay next to your love. Let your breath be the wind that brushes against its petals. In a storm, build a fortress to protect it, to shade it from the sun. Sing songs to it until you fall asleep, where you dream beside it. If you part, have no fear. Relish the moments in which that Love is beside you. Do not entertain thoughts of another coming and plucking that flower, you have no control over such things. Live beside that which you Love, possession will only bring death. No one can take your love. If in the morning that flower is no longer there, fear nothing, as you too will one day be gone. The more we love, the more we want to hold on. Let go of the idea of permanence. Everything is ever changing. The seasons, the tides, they come and they go. Move within them. Hold that Love deep inside, like a heartbeat. Fear of loss is ever gnawing. Let go of fear by letting go of the idea of possession. All that you own is that which beats within you, silent and voluminous. All else is an illusion. When you look across the room at her, do so as you would a flower. Appreciate and enjoy, do not let the tendrils of fear wrap themselves around you. Do not reach out and take what is not yours, do not ask for anything in return. Open up your heart, let the sunshine pour from your eyes. Before you know it, these moments will be memories. This life will be another grain of sand on an endless beach. your story will be lost on the winds of spring.

7

My Prize for Waiting ~ *tucked in all by myself, resting dark and quiet in the thin place^ where the distance between this world and the next, is no distance at all, but a few inches separating, easily fordable, back and forth-able my palms, hands down, come to rest on my ******* and the two thumbs in unison, begin to sweep the streaming space of their in-between, conducting a radar sweep-search for the precise point passageway to poetic mystical places, hoping to snag any residuals for safekeeping no hurry to either arrive or depart, in patient attendance for rhythms of woven word arrivistes, coming in no particular order, asking to be seized, greedy to be nominated and recognized, immortalized, as great poetry, prize worthy, kept for all time inside others poetry chests but in the thin place, dream records are not kept, hazy scraps at best retained, a recipe for a witnessed totality, is only a soupy reduction of a few seconds of hazed video, that can neither give nor get no satisfaction the plastic surgeons attempt to reconstruct the body of the meal, the real deal, alas, there are no prizes either for botched surgeries and pretty but meaningless poetry scraps the only evidence of my travels, a flushing, blushing residual flow, slow to dissipate, a hangover makers mark of a sojourn best described as unsatisfying, my blush, a prize for waiting but failing, “the most peculiar and most human of all expressions”^^ woe to me when returned in ignominy, medaled in only base irony, me and philosopher Pliny,^^^ both dying while recording our own private Vesuvius, our bodies preserved by voluminous volcanic ash, but alas, you cannot recite the ash of poetry so one waits, cut and pasting brown edged burnt photographs epistles, that are clinging and clung to the distaff spindle, insufficient to weave a flax complete and yet we return perforce twenty four hours from now, to snag another prized piece of meaningless, my prize for waiting in the solitude of the thin place* 3:35am Saturday April 6th, 2019 ~ last nights scrap ***cease your whining, seize your waiting, therein is your own paid price for the prize of inspiration*** inspired by Jean Fisher, a real prize winning poet

0

Apr 6, 2019

Apr 6, 2019 at 4:26 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

My Prize for Waiting

My Prize for Waiting ~ *tucked in all by myself, resting dark and quiet in the thin place^ where the distance between this world and the next, is no distance at all, but a few inches separating, easily fordable, back and forth-able my palms, hands down, come to rest on my ******* and the two thumbs in unison, begin to sweep the streaming space of their in-between, conducting a radar sweep-search for the precise point passageway to poetic mystical places, hoping to snag any residuals for safekeeping no hurry to either arrive or depart, in patient attendance for rhythms of woven word arrivistes, coming in no particular order, asking to be seized, greedy to be nominated and recognized, immortalized, as great poetry, prize worthy, kept for all time inside others poetry chests but in the thin place, dream records are not kept, hazy scraps at best retained, a recipe for a witnessed totality, is only a soupy reduction of a few seconds of hazed video, that can neither give nor get no satisfaction the plastic surgeons attempt to reconstruct the body of the meal, the real deal, alas, there are no prizes either for botched surgeries and pretty but meaningless poetry scraps the only evidence of my travels, a flushing, blushing residual flow, slow to dissipate, a hangover makers mark of a sojourn best described as unsatisfying, my blush, a prize for waiting but failing, “the most peculiar and most human of all expressions”^^ woe to me when returned in ignominy, medaled in only base irony, me and philosopher Pliny,^^^ both dying while recording our own private Vesuvius, our bodies preserved by voluminous volcanic ash, but alas, you cannot recite the ash of poetry so one waits, cut and pasting brown edged burnt photographs epistles, that are clinging and clung to the distaff spindle, insufficient to weave a flax complete and yet we return perforce twenty four hours from now, to snag another prized piece of meaningless, my prize for waiting in the solitude of the thin place* 3:35am Saturday April 6th, 2019 ~ last nights scrap ***cease your whining, seize your waiting, therein is your own paid price for the prize of inspiration*** inspired by Jean Fisher, a real prize winning poet

67

Where the grapes you eat are red and green But the ones you draw are purple Where you love your parents with all of your heart But pretend you’re an orphan when you play with friends Where the monsters that lurk in closets and under beds Can be destroyed by the light of day Where a stinging, aching cut or bruise Can be healed by a kiss Where a girl can transform into a fairy princess By slipping on a voluminous pink tutu Where a boy becomes a conquering hero By arming himself with an intimidating roll of wrapping paper Where a slightly unkempt yard Becomes a jungle full of tigers and serpents Where an in ground pool Becomes an ocean whose depths must be explored Where winter Is a season for snowmen and presents Where summer Is a season for ice cream and beaches Where Mommy Is the best chef, nurse, and storyteller Where Daddy Is the great protector, hug giver, and handyman Where science has no bearing Because rainbows and lightning come from magic Where logic doesn’t make sense Because the powers of love and fantasy are illogical And there is no place for suffering Because pain is overshadowed by innocence

0

Feb 26, 2012

Feb 26, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC

sarah-riordan

The Innocence of Youth

Where the grapes you eat are red and green But the ones you draw are purple Where you love your parents with all of your heart But pretend you’re an orphan when you play with friends Where the monsters that lurk in closets and under beds Can be destroyed by the light of day Where a stinging, aching cut or bruise Can be healed by a kiss Where a girl can transform into a fairy princess By slipping on a voluminous pink tutu Where a boy becomes a conquering hero By arming himself with an intimidating roll of wrapping paper Where a slightly unkempt yard Becomes a jungle full of tigers and serpents Where an in ground pool Becomes an ocean whose depths must be explored Where winter Is a season for snowmen and presents Where summer Is a season for ice cream and beaches Where Mommy Is the best chef, nurse, and storyteller Where Daddy Is the great protector, hug giver, and handyman Where science has no bearing Because rainbows and lightning come from magic Where logic doesn’t make sense Because the powers of love and fantasy are illogical And there is no place for suffering Because pain is overshadowed by innocence

30

We loved your ample bosoms, Dear Grandmothers, So soft and pillow-like; The perfect place to lay sleepy heads. We loved your voluminous laps, Dear Grannies, Wrapped in yards of cotton; The perfect place to rest teary faces. We loved your full long dresses, Dear mothers of our parents, In lengths well past your knees; The perfect place to hide a shy child.

0

Mar 30, 2015

Mar 30, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC

sherlene2

Old-fashioned Comfort

We loved your ample bosoms, Dear Grandmothers, So soft and pillow-like; The perfect place to lay sleepy heads. We loved your voluminous laps, Dear Grannies, Wrapped in yards of cotton; The perfect place to rest teary faces. We loved your full long dresses, Dear mothers of our parents, In lengths well past your knees; The perfect place to hide a shy child.

12

Golden shawls envelope flushing, blending fabrics which billow under the waxen blackbird's silky braided feathers. Heaven's vault, a celestial sphere of blue yonder, a swirling palette of oils suffusing and dancing, wrapping their ringlets into one thousand spirals which signet shadows onto the slender impressions in the sog. Illuminous, voluminous salmon bleaches blushing black tissue to pale primrose promising the cobalt then marrying to aquamarine. Stained glass fingers barely protruding from aurelian pews.

0

Apr 20, 2014

Apr 20, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC

Misser

A mood for sunsets

Golden shawls envelope flushing, blending fabrics which billow under the waxen blackbird's silky braided feathers. Heaven's vault, a celestial sphere of blue yonder, a swirling palette of oils suffusing and dancing, wrapping their ringlets into one thousand spirals which signet shadows onto the slender impressions in the sog. Illuminous, voluminous salmon bleaches blushing black tissue to pale primrose promising the cobalt then marrying to aquamarine. Stained glass fingers barely protruding from aurelian pews.

16

There was a light I was trying to find in the darkness to which I was consigned when I saw your candle floating in the nether until then I thought I might be blind succumbing to a manic mind once we got together a most glorious endeavor for a bit of time things couldn't get better then everything died. I saw a soul in a machine I saw more than you'd believe just from your candle glow just before the wind would blow I'd see you twisting in gusts blistering before taking off like a kite flying into the perilous night. You left me hanging like the voluminous cumulus clouds above me looking so lovely thunder banging becoming a sun screen and it won't stop raining inching into the umpteens with no way of draining and me still looking for something. I guess I shouldn't be so easily triggered knowing the time we spent was just for rent my text no longer says sent but delivered so I wonder where you went leaving me here to wither I thought you were a giver but now I lie alone to shiver in the cold draft of my bedroom your presence in my head looms like an undead's tomb living without life just dread and doom without you just maybe mights through Hades nights with heavy gloom under a shady kite for which I've lost the handle I was looking for light and you gave me just a candle.

0

Mar 26, 2022

Mar 26, 2022 at 4:10 AM UTC

andrew-rueter

Candle

There was a light I was trying to find in the darkness to which I was consigned when I saw your candle floating in the nether until then I thought I might be blind succumbing to a manic mind once we got together a most glorious endeavor for a bit of time things couldn't get better then everything died. I saw a soul in a machine I saw more than you'd believe just from your candle glow just before the wind would blow I'd see you twisting in gusts blistering before taking off like a kite flying into the perilous night. You left me hanging like the voluminous cumulus clouds above me looking so lovely thunder banging becoming a sun screen and it won't stop raining inching into the umpteens with no way of draining and me still looking for something. I guess I shouldn't be so easily triggered knowing the time we spent was just for rent my text no longer says sent but delivered so I wonder where you went leaving me here to wither I thought you were a giver but now I lie alone to shiver in the cold draft of my bedroom your presence in my head looms like an undead's tomb living without life just dread and doom without you just maybe mights through Hades nights with heavy gloom under a shady kite for which I've lost the handle I was looking for light and you gave me just a candle.

50

i went into absorption for months... upon returning to words i found they had atrophied--like spotting an ant through a keyhole. they came so sparely, one by one... wondering why i wished to violate the silence that so blessed me. so they sat next to one another in lotus position, and poems were emanated. they became more and more voluminous, to the point of daily. as if being summoned by a spell...slowly poured into a glass and spilled into a pair of lips. to be reabsorbed by her mouth.

0

Jul 18, 2018

Jul 18, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC

Onoma

Absorption

i went into absorption for months... upon returning to words i found they had atrophied--like spotting an ant through a keyhole. they came so sparely, one by one... wondering why i wished to violate the silence that so blessed me. so they sat next to one another in lotus position, and poems were emanated. they became more and more voluminous, to the point of daily. as if being summoned by a spell...slowly poured into a glass and spilled into a pair of lips. to be reabsorbed by her mouth.

15

His hair so rich and thick Spiraling upward higher and higher Voluminous in appearance Bold in its statement Copious curls demanding attention Natural, beautiful and free flowing Standing tall to whomever it encounters Sunlight beaming into its brown hue It tells a story of bloodline and culture Narrates history, prejudice, acceptance Perseverant by nature Resilient against criticism I worship his hair from a distance Yearning to feel it in between my fingers Kiss his strands one by one Inhale its scent like aromatherapy

0

Aug 6, 2019

Aug 6, 2019 at 1:30 PM UTC

diana-santiago

His Hair

His hair so rich and thick Spiraling upward higher and higher Voluminous in appearance Bold in its statement Copious curls demanding attention Natural, beautiful and free flowing Standing tall to whomever it encounters Sunlight beaming into its brown hue It tells a story of bloodline and culture Narrates history, prejudice, acceptance Perseverant by nature Resilient against criticism I worship his hair from a distance Yearning to feel it in between my fingers Kiss his strands one by one Inhale its scent like aromatherapy

16

I pace the sounding sea-beach and behold How the voluminous billows roll and run, Upheaving and subsiding, while the sun Shines through their sheeted emerald far unrolled, And the ninth wave, slow gathering fold by fold All its loose-flowing garments into one, Plunges upon the shore, and floods the dun Pale reach of sands, and changes them to gold. So in majestic cadence rise and fall The mighty undulations of thy song, O sightless bard, England’s Mæonides! And ever and anon, high over all Uplifted, a ninth wave superb and strong, Floods all the soul with its melodious seas.

0

2.4k

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Milton

I pace the sounding sea-beach and behold How the voluminous billows roll and run, Upheaving and subsiding, while the sun Shines through their sheeted emerald far unrolled, And the ninth wave, slow gathering fold by fold All its loose-flowing garments into one, Plunges upon the shore, and floods the dun Pale reach of sands, and changes them to gold. So in majestic cadence rise and fall The mighty undulations of thy song, O sightless bard, England’s Mæonides! And ever and anon, high over all Uplifted, a ninth wave superb and strong, Floods all the soul with its melodious seas.

14

In my voluminous botanical garden Sits a vegetation, of luxuriant foliage Gently dancing in the wind As a yellow canary sings lyrical notes Fluttering freely, leaving me with a grin Aiming beautifully, when capturing the essence From one bud to the other And nothing could compare As he lingers graciously Quite lovely, as I stare Upon the richness, of the light blue skies An unforgettable scenery With clouds in puffs of snow As the sun slightly peeks And my heart, thy certainly stole

0

Apr 28, 2014

Apr 28, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC

gladysp911

In My Voluminous Botanical Garden

In my voluminous botanical garden Sits a vegetation, of luxuriant foliage Gently dancing in the wind As a yellow canary sings lyrical notes Fluttering freely, leaving me with a grin Aiming beautifully, when capturing the essence From one bud to the other And nothing could compare As he lingers graciously Quite lovely, as I stare Upon the richness, of the light blue skies An unforgettable scenery With clouds in puffs of snow As the sun slightly peeks And my heart, thy certainly stole

15

scorning sun bursts into the aisles of graying curly waves, punching yellow teeth and candied sweets with the green of loving laughter that i've not heard in years. you taught our fingers to bleed of bramble dew. so sticky in our attempts to keep Genevieve's crystal filled but, clear of improper pounds. collected ounces that rudely overflow, are picked with mudded, forested feet. consumed so clean and sweet, from thorns between the brush, the aisles buzzed of summers paths that only lead us where we knew. through the scales and passed the cords where drying life would heat our warmth, nights would drop with echoing sounds like trains slowly passing through our country's vacant crossing. you voluminous sap of unaccounted ooze. you sweet maple so never barren or dull. you flame of northern light. take me back to the path we passed where cords are dried to burn where frogs croak in Côté's creek where my memories live and yearn

0

Mar 30, 2017

Mar 30, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC

fern

Bloodied Bramble Dew

scorning sun bursts into the aisles of graying curly waves, punching yellow teeth and candied sweets with the green of loving laughter that i've not heard in years. you taught our fingers to bleed of bramble dew. so sticky in our attempts to keep Genevieve's crystal filled but, clear of improper pounds. collected ounces that rudely overflow, are picked with mudded, forested feet. consumed so clean and sweet, from thorns between the brush, the aisles buzzed of summers paths that only lead us where we knew. through the scales and passed the cords where drying life would heat our warmth, nights would drop with echoing sounds like trains slowly passing through our country's vacant crossing. you voluminous sap of unaccounted ooze. you sweet maple so never barren or dull. you flame of northern light. take me back to the path we passed where cords are dried to burn where frogs croak in Côté's creek where my memories live and yearn

21

I was in the car with the mama of the girl I babysit, her brown deep eyes like whittled wood flicked over mine, and she asked me what I had learned at school today. I don’t know, but I think it’s this spring fever that seems to have burned a hole through my head letting my brain bounce up into the blue abode but the blame is not solely on the season Everything I learn that keeps me living, lives in the trains of thought, thought by others. The mothers I meet with the babies who greet the failure at the first knock on their wobbly knees compel me to contemplate further, because with each waking breath they are reminded that to live, you learn. So I tell this fragile woman that today my teachers taught, but the thought of their subjects subjects negative connotations, I want real lessons without plans to hand you wisdom, courage, and consideration I get to learning in the jaw clinching, artery pinching, eyebrow flinching awe of the way that woman can sing. I’ve learned the color of my best friends teeth because some days she smiles. Learning to heal is hard enough, but to deal with a scab left raw is something I will always need improvement on. With, or without school I’m going to learn. I’m going to learn cold beverage condensation rings, percolating dreams, my little sisters shy smiled wings and societies racist, sexist, sizeist, ageist, ableist, tightly sewn seams. Im rattling off my bare brisk list of ambitions, of pleading for a voluminous scholarshipped tuition, as I sit next to this woman waiting for a robust reply I’m learning, that the whittled wood gap in her eyes are round with sticky sap. She will teach her daughter academically, never letting her size our common ground; The skies. I want her baby to experience, and as if on cue, her yawn brings in the tides of the oceans in her eyes, something she’s learning to cope with, she’s grasping my soft word’s “This too, shall pass, make sure you look to learn with your eyes not your brain, dear baby girl, choose water over wood, and when your mama tells you to pack that school bag, make sure its zipper barely closes over tightly stuffed open mindedness, and a few colored pencils.”

0

Jun 21, 2012

Jun 21, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC

brianna-heins

I Hope You Learn Outside the Box of School

I was in the car with the mama of the girl I babysit, her brown deep eyes like whittled wood flicked over mine, and she asked me what I had learned at school today. I don’t know, but I think it’s this spring fever that seems to have burned a hole through my head letting my brain bounce up into the blue abode but the blame is not solely on the season Everything I learn that keeps me living, lives in the trains of thought, thought by others. The mothers I meet with the babies who greet the failure at the first knock on their wobbly knees compel me to contemplate further, because with each waking breath they are reminded that to live, you learn. So I tell this fragile woman that today my teachers taught, but the thought of their subjects subjects negative connotations, I want real lessons without plans to hand you wisdom, courage, and consideration I get to learning in the jaw clinching, artery pinching, eyebrow flinching awe of the way that woman can sing. I’ve learned the color of my best friends teeth because some days she smiles. Learning to heal is hard enough, but to deal with a scab left raw is something I will always need improvement on. With, or without school I’m going to learn. I’m going to learn cold beverage condensation rings, percolating dreams, my little sisters shy smiled wings and societies racist, sexist, sizeist, ageist, ableist, tightly sewn seams. Im rattling off my bare brisk list of ambitions, of pleading for a voluminous scholarshipped tuition, as I sit next to this woman waiting for a robust reply I’m learning, that the whittled wood gap in her eyes are round with sticky sap. She will teach her daughter academically, never letting her size our common ground; The skies. I want her baby to experience, and as if on cue, her yawn brings in the tides of the oceans in her eyes, something she’s learning to cope with, she’s grasping my soft word’s “This too, shall pass, make sure you look to learn with your eyes not your brain, dear baby girl, choose water over wood, and when your mama tells you to pack that school bag, make sure its zipper barely closes over tightly stuffed open mindedness, and a few colored pencils.”

48

I no longer try to impress I digress Hoping that what is left unspoken highlights significance You could be completely faithless I'd like to think there's some reason for my presence You're far more simple than me I foolishly try to win your appease Even though I know you wish I'd praise on my knees Your ego leaves you thinking you are godly To me you reek of voluminous folly I am left begging for acquiescence Communications fail and lessen to flattery and Superficiality I want you to love me Though I cant be sure on my own behalf I'd implore the same It doesn't feel like a game though I expect I am being played I wont falter to your narcissistic ways We fight until the passion leaves us in a haze It makes me feel alive when I oppose you and gain such a stance It beats watching the latest televised programs If it came down to you or I I'd surely die to save your life That has to mean something

0

Jan 15, 2014

Jan 15, 2014 at 4:28 AM UTC

danielle-rose

Why?

I no longer try to impress I digress Hoping that what is left unspoken highlights significance You could be completely faithless I'd like to think there's some reason for my presence You're far more simple than me I foolishly try to win your appease Even though I know you wish I'd praise on my knees Your ego leaves you thinking you are godly To me you reek of voluminous folly I am left begging for acquiescence Communications fail and lessen to flattery and Superficiality I want you to love me Though I cant be sure on my own behalf I'd implore the same It doesn't feel like a game though I expect I am being played I wont falter to your narcissistic ways We fight until the passion leaves us in a haze It makes me feel alive when I oppose you and gain such a stance It beats watching the latest televised programs If it came down to you or I I'd surely die to save your life That has to mean something

22

Is my body an issue? Is it impossible to be loved the way I am? With these voluminous waves of body “for days” Am I unlovable or is that absurd? Is my personality an issue? Is it too hard to love me as I am? With this overachieving persona, Am I just a effervescent loner? Am I unlovable or is that ridiculous? Is my face an issue? Is it just too much effort to love me? With these battle scars of adolescence, Painted with the wrong message, Am I unlovable or is that just pathetic?

0

May 28, 2018

May 28, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC

Deviate

am i unlovable?

Is my body an issue? Is it impossible to be loved the way I am? With these voluminous waves of body “for days” Am I unlovable or is that absurd? Is my personality an issue? Is it too hard to love me as I am? With this overachieving persona, Am I just a effervescent loner? Am I unlovable or is that ridiculous? Is my face an issue? Is it just too much effort to love me? With these battle scars of adolescence, Painted with the wrong message, Am I unlovable or is that just pathetic?

15

Do images of I appear in her thoughts? Or simply the fostering of quaint fantasies? Through all pandemonium paramour is sought Though warded within profound secrecy Frantic I plea for reprieve To recover voluminous wounds Renounce excuse to grieve Slaughter the walls of this cocoon 'Tis never known where time will guide us Underneath the sun she soaked hollow promises Issuing surreal decrees decayed of trust To romantic encounters she remains a novice Genuine amour long since faded Perennial you've become jaded

0

Feb 15, 2012

Feb 15, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC

glenn-mccrary

**** Paris

Do images of I appear in her thoughts? Or simply the fostering of quaint fantasies? Through all pandemonium paramour is sought Though warded within profound secrecy Frantic I plea for reprieve To recover voluminous wounds Renounce excuse to grieve Slaughter the walls of this cocoon 'Tis never known where time will guide us Underneath the sun she soaked hollow promises Issuing surreal decrees decayed of trust To romantic encounters she remains a novice Genuine amour long since faded Perennial you've become jaded

14

Churning Boisterous to me life a high powerful stormy sea will I ever see land again those peaceful Dales the trees so deeply rooted in there canopy the swaying seems as undersea waves so softly they Stir as at play deep valleys and hills below above aluminous sun light makes a rich glow in its tow I go Ever so slow the sea grass moves in a musical undulating fashion the same as the grass on the plains Colors diverse with coral markers at depths that unrest at the surface doesn’t reach the frothing foam As it were a great goblet filled for god to drink a offering of thanks for such wonder that can be a Complexity at once filling heights of emotional strands then instantly terrifying foreboding illustrious Without equal so vast stretching all the bounds you have ever known by the sea blown tales that are As voluminous as the sea itself adventure in the raw highlighted with charm by the cawing of the seagull With the same speed they dive and climb on the surface races the dolphin the embodiment of joy and Laughter the sea rescuers has been some of their duties to the blessing of many lost mariners in cold Chilly waters these bubbly ones was the difference between life and death the sea does spray as with Glory unbound in this all concluding vesture that is seamless all consuming tiring but invigorating once The sea salt has entered your blood there is no escape its lore hypnotic unbreakable break waters will Carry you inland by that she granted your greatest desire after she has reared her head and gave you The Undeniable look at deaths watery jaws but when on her mercy you survive or in some fashion are Flung on the shore you lose your emotional tiller and blubber like a baby then the manly part curses all She Put you through you know one thing for certain never will she catch you a float but little do you Know her winsome call withers all about so you hungrily crave the sea tossed tempest its excitement is a Drug that a ****** has no cure for it puts robust living in your path all of your days while the timid land Dwellers only look on in awe and admiration

0

Jan 9, 2012

Jan 9, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC

hal-loyd-denton

Churning

Churning Boisterous to me life a high powerful stormy sea will I ever see land again those peaceful Dales the trees so deeply rooted in there canopy the swaying seems as undersea waves so softly they Stir as at play deep valleys and hills below above aluminous sun light makes a rich glow in its tow I go Ever so slow the sea grass moves in a musical undulating fashion the same as the grass on the plains Colors diverse with coral markers at depths that unrest at the surface doesn’t reach the frothing foam As it were a great goblet filled for god to drink a offering of thanks for such wonder that can be a Complexity at once filling heights of emotional strands then instantly terrifying foreboding illustrious Without equal so vast stretching all the bounds you have ever known by the sea blown tales that are As voluminous as the sea itself adventure in the raw highlighted with charm by the cawing of the seagull With the same speed they dive and climb on the surface races the dolphin the embodiment of joy and Laughter the sea rescuers has been some of their duties to the blessing of many lost mariners in cold Chilly waters these bubbly ones was the difference between life and death the sea does spray as with Glory unbound in this all concluding vesture that is seamless all consuming tiring but invigorating once The sea salt has entered your blood there is no escape its lore hypnotic unbreakable break waters will Carry you inland by that she granted your greatest desire after she has reared her head and gave you The Undeniable look at deaths watery jaws but when on her mercy you survive or in some fashion are Flung on the shore you lose your emotional tiller and blubber like a baby then the manly part curses all She Put you through you know one thing for certain never will she catch you a float but little do you Know her winsome call withers all about so you hungrily crave the sea tossed tempest its excitement is a Drug that a ****** has no cure for it puts robust living in your path all of your days while the timid land Dwellers only look on in awe and admiration

22

Gangling ghosts cause trouble inside this meaty microwave-- I am on these streets and don't know how I got here. I'm carrying 2% milk, in my left hand, and a carton of extra-large eggs in my right-- I drop the jug and it bursts. I joke about how I still have 2%, but no one laughs because no one has ever really been around to hear me. So, I'm scrambling eggs and wishing I had that milk because who doesn't like voluminous eggs. I stop whisking and ask who is there. Why am I afraid of you, Why am I afraid of you the raw scrambled eggs on the floor, touched by ceramic seashells. And it's you. You are the Lord, a naked lover, that absence caused by my auto-pilot parents Forever, right here.

0

Feb 12, 2018

Feb 12, 2018 at 12:05 AM UTC

joshua-haines

Right Here

Gangling ghosts cause trouble inside this meaty microwave-- I am on these streets and don't know how I got here. I'm carrying 2% milk, in my left hand, and a carton of extra-large eggs in my right-- I drop the jug and it bursts. I joke about how I still have 2%, but no one laughs because no one has ever really been around to hear me. So, I'm scrambling eggs and wishing I had that milk because who doesn't like voluminous eggs. I stop whisking and ask who is there. Why am I afraid of you, Why am I afraid of you the raw scrambled eggs on the floor, touched by ceramic seashells. And it's you. You are the Lord, a naked lover, that absence caused by my auto-pilot parents Forever, right here.

20

I thought I saw Late one night Obsequious in Voluminous light Emotionally distressed Your tears cascading, shining bright Opposed to black mascara left in Unscripted tracks down your face.

0

May 27, 2016

May 27, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC

lark-train

Flaws

I thought I saw Late one night Obsequious in Voluminous light Emotionally distressed Your tears cascading, shining bright Opposed to black mascara left in Unscripted tracks down your face.

8